The Truth About These Men
by DeniseV
Summary: A minor OC provides a knowing observation about The Magnificent Seven.


The two men rode slowly into town, their horses looking as exhausted as their human cargo appeared. And what was it exactly that seemed to cover both horse and rider?

"What the hell happened to you?" Chris Larabee demanded of his two fellow lawmen.

"Ssssh, old dog. Keep it down." Buck Wilmington was adamant, as near a demand of his old friend as the good-natured man would ever make. The tone mixed with the pain on his handsome face forced Chris' attention away from the renowned ladies man and over to his companion.

"Buck?" the other man on horseback asked, a tremble evident as he spoke.

"It's all right, Ez. We're home."

"What's wrong?" Chris asked, quieter this time in deference to Buck's request, and far more concerned now as he considered the way Ezra Standish looked - which was damned bad – and compared it to the way he acted and sounded, which was just as bad, if not worse.

"Help me get Ezra over to Nathan," Buck suggested softly. He took Chaucer's reins and led the horse over; Chris could do nothing but walk along beside them and watch that neither man fell from their mounts. What the hell happened? It was a beautiful day, the sun had been shining brightly since first rising, though clouds had marred the sky farther east, which was the direction from which his friends were returning to town. Why were his men, and to a lesser extent, their horses, covered in what appeared to be dried mud? And why were they both hurt, Ezra apparently seriously.

"Buck?" the former gunslinger asked as he easily kept up on foot with the deliberate pace being set, this time the query more of a demand as he sought answers.

"I'll tell ya everything once we get Ezra settled."

"Do not 'llow Mistah Wilmin'ton to fool you. He r'quires lookin' aftah by our fine healah as well." Chris looked to Buck for confirmation; the man did not look good. It was somewhat of a struggle for Chris to understand what Ezra had said, his accent extra thick, the sloppy, lazy enunciation nothing like what was expected from the southerner when he was unhurt and not clearly exhausted. Even when he would over-imbibe, as infrequently as that was, you could still count on Ezra to speak just so … silky smooth and clear as a bell.

"I'm fine. Knocked my head is all. You know I got a hard head."

"I do. Don't mean ya can't get hit too hard."

"I'll let Nate check me over once he helps Ezra," Buck answered, irritation now evident with the continued interrogation.

"And what exactly is wrong with Ezra?" Chris asked of Buck while he kept his eyes riveted on the gambler. It didn't take critical inspection to see some of what was wrong. The southerner was hunched over in the saddle, his left wrist resting inside his vest, secured by the top and bottom button of the no longer pristine garment. It was what he couldn't see that worried the former gunslinger.

Chris had sent the two men over to Eagle Bend with a man in custody who the other town's sheriff had telegraphed about a few days earlier, warning that he might be headed their way. J.D. Dunne, their own sheriff in the small town of Four Corners, the dusty high-desert town that Chris and the other members of the famous Magnificent Seven now called home, had recognized the man immediately from the description. J.D. and Buck, fortuitously positioned at the livery grooming their horses, nabbed him as soon as he'd entered their town. The trip for Buck and Ezra was supposed to be a simple prisoner transfer.

Something had clearly gone wrong on the return. Chris already received a telegram from Eagle Bend that the prisoner was in custody and that Buck and Ezra were on their way back, so it seemed unlikely that the prisoner had anything to do with how the two lawmen got hurt.

"Chris," Buck answered as he slowed his horse, and thus their progress to Nathan's and help for his friend, his blue eyes now steely as he stared at his longtime friend. "I'll tell ya once we get Ezra settled."

The leader of the Seven stared back at the determined man. He frowned at the insistence that they wait to discuss what had gone on, but it seemed neither of them would have to wait too long for the story.

"The Morrison family's gone," Ezra said flatly.

Buck and Chris shared a look. Buck nodded in verification and then shook his head; Chris would have to wait for the rest of the story. Whatever it was that Buck didn't want to get into in front of Ezra must be pretty bad.

They reached the back of the livery. "Chris, can ya get Nathan? We're gonna need help with Ezra." _That _truth told Chris that it was more than just Buck's head that had been hurt.

"Be right back." Chris headed up the steps to the room the healer kept above the livery. As he neared about the halfway point up the first staircase, he heard a barely uttered 'Buck?' from the con man, followed by 'It's all right, Ez. Almost there.'

'_What had gone on?' _Chris thought, and why are his two friends in such bad shape? He made his way quickly to the entrance of the clinic, knocked and then opened the door at the same time and called once he saw Nathan Jackson sitting at the table with an opened book, a seemingly thick medical volume, and a mostly-eaten sandwich in his hand, "Need ya, Nate!"

The former slave jumped up, shoveling the last of the food into his mouth. He moved far more swiftly than expected for a man his size, especially one who'd been hunched over a book for a while. Chris envied such mobility as he continued to feel his own body show the effects of aging and a hard life in the west.

"What is it?"

"Buck and Ezra ran into trouble. They're downstairs."

"Least they're both still with us," the healer responded. He didn't take anything with him as it sounded like both men might be spending some time with him for a while.

"Barely," Chris said under his breath as he turned to head back out. As they descended the staircase, Chris and Nathan found both Buck and Ezra still in their saddles.

"Give me a hand, Chris. Keep an eye on Ezra, Nathan," he instructed tiredly.

"Ah am fine," the card sharp muttered. Buck and Chris ignored the comment. Nathan stepped over to Ezra.

"What's wrong?" he asked as he looked up worriedly at the filthy, roughed up man.

"Nothin' as terrible as what b'fell Frank an' M … Mabel and … " A near sob followed, but Ezra quickly collected himself. "The children … "

Buck was now on the ground and made his way, with a halting limp, over to Ezra and his horse. His eyes met the confused ones of his Negro friend. Buck nodded and then he watched as Nathan's eyes turned to show sadness, and then compassion for what he and Ezra had been through. Nathan Jackson had a huge heart and a history that might have turned him bitter. Luckily for all who knew him, that compassionate side is what won after years of degradation from existing as some white man's chattel. He didn't need to know the details to know that his friends were hurting, and not only from visible or hidden physical injury.

Chaucer waited patiently, his owner swaying slightly in the saddle as Buck said, "Let's get ya down, Ez."

"Stand back, Buck. Nate 'n' me'll help Ezra. You go on up. We're right behind ya."

"But … "

"Do as he says, Buck," Ezra said softly. "You, too, are hurt. Ah do not wish that you further injure yourself b'cause you fell tryin' to assist."

Chris leaned in close and said quietly to his oldest friend, "Go on. We'll take care of him. You did good gettin' 'im here." Buck and Chris exchanged a warm-though-concerned look and then Buck nodded, lowered his head, and headed – slowly and clearly painfully – up to the clinic.

"All right, Ezra. Now it's your turn. You ready?"

"Ah admit to some trep'dation at the prospect," the hurting man said. Chris and Nathan were as gentle as they could be, but something pained Ezra terribly. It was evident from the stifled hisses and the less-than-successfully stifled moans, and even more so when he took his first step and passed out between the two men, the dead weight surprising them both, not merely the suddenness of the action but also the fact that someone as lean and fit as Ezra could weigh as much as he did.

"Jesus," Chris grunted. "He's heavier than he looks. I always forget that," he added, struggling to keep his fellow lawman from meeting the ground.

"He's solid and all muscle," Nathan reminded. "Ain't natural," he added as he worked to get a grip on some part of Ezra's body that wasn't hurt.

"No, it ain't. He works at it, but I'll be damned if I can tell when."

"You're not likely to know if Ez don't want ya to know. Need help, brothers?" Josiah Sanchez asked. He didn't wait for an answer; he picked the unconscious man up far too easily and took the lead up the stairs.

"Ah, hell," Buck said as he turned to find the former preacher carrying an unconscious Ezra across the balcony to the door that he had only just reached himself.

"You'll need to start talkin', Buck. Nathan could use some more help knowin' what he's lookin' for."

"I know, Chris." Buck ran his hand through his hair, sat in the chair Chris pulled up for him, and looked at Ezra. "Damn it, Ez." To Nathan he said, "He got hit hard on the back of his head. Knocked him out for a while, a few minutes at least. I think his wrist might be broke. Check him for cracked or broken ribs on his left side. He's been favorin' 'em even though he's tried to hide it." Chris and Nathan waited for more, though the list of injuries provided so far was more than enough to keep the healer busy for a while. "Could be more wrong, but we split up for a bit and when I found him again, one of Clint Dawson's men was layin' into 'im; that's when he got hit on the head."

"Clint Dawson? They killed Frank and Mabel?" Chris asked. The Morrisons were relative newcomers to the area, having moved in just about a year and a half ago. Mabel tended a thriving mini-farm of vegetables and fruit trees that helped keep the restaurants in town – which now numbered three in addition to the fare available at the saloons – supplied, as well as Potter's Mercantile, which now had an expanded grocery section. Her children, Juliet and Jesse, both in their mid-teens, were surprisingly enthusiastic workers on the farm. Frank and Mabel had raised two fine children, according to Ezra. Though he mostly spent time with the younger children of the town and surrounding area, he found the Morrison teens smart and interested in, well, just about everything. They were voracious readers and had borrowed every book that Ezra could get for them. The father, Frank, worked a variety of jobs, including each of the peacekeepers' least favorite job … only Ezra and J.D. hadn't worked at it at some point in their lives: herding cattle. Just hearing those two words made Buck shiver. And Josiah had often said that herding cattle truly was like being lost in the wilderness, in spite of owning the knowledge of how to get out. Most often these days you could find Frank putting the finishing touches on cabinetry and other high-quality handmade woodworking around Four Corners and beyond. He was mighty talented. Orin Travis had even paid him to go to Santa Fe to spruce up his offices and finally provide his wife with the kitchen she had always wanted. They were a hard-working family, the Morrisons, committed to their community and proud of their place in it. They didn't deserve this.

"Can't believe it," Buck said as he sat down and rubbed his aching head. "Dawson wasn't there, just some of his men."

"I thought he was friends with Frank," Chris said.

"No. I think it was the wives that were friendly." Buck moved his tired, bloodshot eyes from Ezra to Chris. "We heard shots comin' from their direction, couldn't think of a good reason for it, so we high-tailed it over. Frank and Jesse … Mabel, they were al … already … and … Juliet." Buck shook his head sadly, his eyes tearing up. He roughly wiped the wetness away and continued. "I … " he looked over to Ezra, " … we took care of those scum who … they … shit … " The longer Buck told the story the paler he grew. Chris knew that Nathan was busy, but Buck was looking worse by the minute.

"Take it easy, Buck." Chris gauged his friend's ability to get back on a horse, knew Ezra wouldn't be going anywhere soon. "Do we need to ride?"

Buck looked Chris in the eye and then looked over to Ezra once more. "No. Ez … we got 'em all. They're all dead. Don't have any proof that Dawson had anything to do with it."

"Can't imagine why he'd do something like this, or order something like this."

"Losing five men, if he wasn't involved and they don't come back, he's the kind of man who would be out trackin' 'em down, wantin' to know why," Buck replied as he watched Nathan and Josiah carefully undress Ezra.

"Can't really wait for that. Need to know what happened. What'd ya do with the bodies?"

"Piled 'em up in the barn. Put the livestock in the far corral. The Morrisons are inside the house."

"I'll get J.D. and Vin to bring 'em in," Chris said as he stood. "Nathan?" he asked with concern over his downed man.

"I'll let ya know."

"You headin' to Dawson's?" Buck asked.

"Reckon."

"I'll go with you," the town Lothario said, followed by a quick retort from Nathan.

"What the hell are you doin'?" he asked, looking up from tending the gambler to see Buck painfully force his way out of the chair.

"I'm fine. 'Sides, I know what went on, and Ezra needs ya more 'n me, anyway."

"Buck," Chris said hesitantly. He wanted Buck with him, someone he knew he could trust, anytime … anywhere, but not at the expense of the man's health. If he was hurt, he needed to be looked at.

"Chris, I just have a headache and a bruised thigh. My leg's feelin' better already, and the headache will pass. And with us not knowin' for sure what Dawson knows or doesn't know about what happened, you could use another set of eyes – and guns – just in case."

"All right. Let's get movin', then."

"I don't like it," Nathan said.

"Nate, it's important that you concentrate on Ezra. Did you find anything worse than I told you?" Buck was worried; Chris was surprised he agreed to go, considering how he was acting when the two of them showed up earlier. Chris knew his friend, and he knew Buck's presence on this ride was as much about extracting revenge, for Ezra … for the Morrisons, as it was watching Chris' back.

"Nasty bruisin'," Nathan began. "He's got two dislocated fingers in addition to the sprained wrist."

"So it isn't broke?" Buck asked.

"Nah, but it's a mess with the bad sprain and his fingers. Won't know about how bad he's hurt inside, including his head, until he wakes up, though it's good that he was talking sense earlier. Nothin' feels wrong under those bruises, except maybe his kidney. Again. He got kicked but good, and someone damn strong hurt his hand."

"Pat Flannery, big oaf. Wish Dawson could get decent men." Chris gave Buck a look that said he knew better. "Yeah, yeah. But I'll tell ya, as Ezra would say, it was _a pleasure_ puttin' a bullet in Flannery."

"We ought to be back by nightfall," Chris said to Josiah.

"Be careful out there, brothers."

"We'll get Vin and J.D. out there to fetch the bodies," Chris noted as he and Buck left the clinic.

* * *

"Thanks, Tom," J.D. Dunne said to the undertaker. Tom Arthur had offered to go with J.D. when he heard what happened. He felt better leaving the town watched by Josiah, Vin Tanner and Nathan, once the healer had finished tending to the gambler. As it turned out, Nathan hadn't left Ezra's side. The injured member of Four Corners' law enforcement team had yet to waken after passing out hours earlier. Luckily, Four Corners had been as quiet as the unlucky gambler.

"It's no problem, J.D. I'm just sorry Ezra got hurt. It's not a good sign that he's still out, is it?"

"Nathan thinks he'll come to soon. Ezra likes to sleep," Vin noted with an affectionate grin as the three men headed to the saloon.

"No word from Chris and Buck?" J.D. asked.

"You know Chris said he wasn't likely to be back 'til later," Vin reminded his young friend.

"I know. But, well … "

"Yer worried. So'm I. Let's get a drink and then head over and check on Ez." They brushed as much dust off of themselves as they could, a habit they'd picked up from the man laying unconscious over at Nathan's clinic, and walked into the drinking establishment.

"Boys," Josiah's voice boomed in greeting as he held up the bar.

"'siah," both Vin and J.D. said in reply.

"You took care of Buck and Ezra's mess?"

"Josiah?" J.D. said with a frown.

"We got the Morrisons, too," Vin reminded. It looked like Josiah had been drinking for a little while and had forgotten what the errand they'd been sent on was.

"Oh, God forgive me. I forgot. Frank … he and Mabel, they want to be buried out at their homestead. I forgot we had to bring 'em in first. Forgive me," the big man said, his eyes showing the pain in his heart at the thoughtless comment.

Vin slapped him on the back. "It's all right, Josiah. We'll get 'em back out there, bury 'em proper-like." The Texan caught the attention of the pretty Mexican barkeep. "Inez," he called, "Beer? Tom?" he asked. A nod from the mortician and large animal veterinarian had Vin say, "Three beers."

"Make it two beers and a glass of milk, Inez," J.D. corrected. His stomach was still a little upset from the job he'd been assigned; milk, though it may lie heavier on his stomach, was less likely to make him sick, at the moment.

"How's … " J.D. began to ask of Josiah as he sought more current information on the well-being of their injured comrade. Josiah didn't let him finish; he knew what they were going to ask.

"Come to just a while ago. I'm only here long enough to tell you that." He'd apparently been here longer than he realized. "Now I'm goin' over to spell Nate a while." Vin and J.D. made to leave without their drinks, but Josiah stalled them, placing his large hand on Vin's chest. "Hold on. Nate says Ezra needs rest. He don't want him bothered today."

"We ain't gonna bother him," J.D. said with a frown.

"J.D., you know what Brother Nathan means. Let's give Ezra at least a day. You know how he is … he'll want to be awake while you're there, despite how much he likes, and this time needs to sleep."

Vin nodded, knowing this was true of their friend. As much as Ezra tried to present a façade of nonchalant disinterest, he truly did not like for his friends to worry about him. He would try to allay their worries by acting as though he was better than he actually was. The man had obviously taken a beating; better that Nathan keep him drugged and quiet for a while.

"I'll send Nathan over to give you an update," Josiah said.

"Tell ya what, Josiah. I'll head over, take a turn with Ez. You and Nate both could use a break," Vin suggested. Vin caught Josiah's eye; it was clear that the suggestion was as much admonishment for the preacher drinking in excess when only two of them had been left in town to watch over things, with Nathan being busy with Ezra, as it was an offer to give both Nathan and Josiah some downtime from the care they'd been giving the card sharp.

"That sounds like a plan," Josiah conceded.

Inez brought their drinks and Tom downed his quickly. "Thanks for the drink, but I've got work to do."

"See ya, Tom," J.D. said. Vin just nodded.

"Looks like Buck and Ezra had quite the fight with them fellas," J.D. said.

"They were all big fellers, too," Vin added. "Can see how Ez coulda got hurt if two of 'em got to him at the same time."

"And the pond overflowed, so they were fighting in mud."

"Yeah, Ezra ain't against fightin' dirty if he has to. This ain't the kind of dirty he likes."

"Buck prob'ly feels guilty not gettin' to him fast enough."

"We can all get caught off-guard," Vin said, "'specially five against two. And their attention had to have been torn 'tween tryin' to find out if Frank 'n' Mabel 'n' the kids were all right … and fightin'." Vin shook his head and took a pull on his beer.

"Think we should've just buried them out on the farm? Josiah said they talked to him once about wanting that," J.D. commented sadly.

"Wasn't just to Josiah," Nathan said as he joined them.

"What about … " J.D. started as he stood to go to Ezra's side.

"Mrs. Travis is with him. He's in good hands," he said as he grabbed his young friend's forearm. The businesswoman was adept at many things, and often helped out when Nathan needed another set of hands. That she held a special place in her heart for the charming southerner only meant that she would drop whatever she was doing when she heard it was Ezra who was hurt. Inez brought a beer and a plate of food to Nathan. "Thank you, Inez."

"Whaddya mean it wasn't just Josiah?" Vin asked.

"Ezra. Just before he woke up, he was talkin' in his sleep. Could tell he was insisting they bury them, and then he seemed to be arguing with Buck that they both needed to do it."

"Sounds like Ezra lost that argument," J.D. said.

"And he made it all the way back here without passin' out," Vin said with obvious admiration.

"That's Ezra for you. Wantin' to make sure the job was done before givin' in. It's good that he lost that argument to Buck. He definitely has a bruised kidney. That ain't something to play around with." The healer asked of Vin, "No word from Chris?" Vin shook his head faintly. Nathan turned back to J.D. "Everything go all right?"

"No trouble. Dawson's men were all pretty beat up except for one that was just shot. Must've got him first. The others fought hard before Buck and Ez had to shoot 'em."

"Tom puttin' 'em on ice 'til Chris gets back?"

J.D. shrugged. "Guess so." He took a draw on his milk. "Ezra gonna be okay?"

"Son of a bitch!" Buck boomed as he entered the saloon, punching the batwing doors hard enough to nearly tear them from their hinges. All four of the seven seated in the bar stood and went for their guns. Buck saw the reaction and said, "Aw, hell, boys. Sorry. Nothin's wrong."

"Well, something's wrong when you storm in like that, Buck," Nathan observed.

"Yeah," the lean gunman said as he removed his hat and combed his hand through his thick hair.

"Yer back early," Vin said, stating the obvious. He kicked a chair away from the table, which Buck promptly fell into.

"Yeah." Inez brought a beer over for Buck. "Thank you, darlin'." His anger was palpable; Inez decided not to challenge the 'darlin' moniker as she had begun to do recently. Her feelings for Buck had definitely changed, from suspicious to affectionate, the same affection she held for all seven members of the group who protected her adopted hometown. But she had found her feelings for another of the Seven changing in quite a different way, and allowing Buck to continue the way he had been just seemed wrong now. That didn't stop her from feeling particular warmth for Buck Wilmington, knowing that his anger had to do with the man laying up in Nathan's clinic, the man for whom her feelings no longer felt like simple affection.

"Señor**,**" she returned as she left, though she remained nearby, just behind the bar, close enough to hear what Buck would have to say.

"Met up with Clint Dawson on the trail. He was headin' to town. Chris is with him over at the undertaker's."

"He have anything to do with what happened?" Vin asked, his anger clear. It was obvious they were all ready to do what they could to avenge what had happened to the Morrison family. To Ezra.

"Naw," Buck said. "Stupid. God-damned stupid."

"What?' J.D. asked.

"Before we headed out, Chris and me, we asked some of the cowhands over at the saloon what they knew. Found out 'bout a card game that went bad. Frank got into it with Mitch Daniels over in Eagle Bend. They played poker. Daniels lost. Bad. Lost his horse. But you know … knew Daniels. He wasn't exactly dealin' with a full deck. Grumbled to a bunch of Dawson's crew that Frank stole his horse. You know Dawson ain't one of my favorite people, but he told us he sent one of his men to check out the story. Found out that Frank won the horse fair and square. Told Daniels to drop it. But Daniels went on whipping the boys into a frenzy, got four of 'em to join him. When the men didn't return last night, Dawson got suspicious and headed to Morrison's. He got there just after me and Chris, nearly cried like a baby when he saw the house all empty … all the blood." J.D. and Tom Arthur had headed out immediately when they'd been assigned the unfortunate assignment and had taken care of the bodies quickly … and reverently for the members of the family who by all rights should still be with them.

"That family's dead 'cause of a bet?" Nathan asked, his ire clear. For the longest time, Nathan believed that Ezra's gambling ways, his conning ways, were reasons to keep his distance from the card sharp. What he'd learned about Ezra in their nearly three years knowing each other, working with each other, facing danger, even death regularly, was that outward signs exposed very little of the truth about the man inside. It was what was in the man's heart that mattered, no matter that he tried his damnedest to hide that part of himself. For all his flamboyant ways, Ezra was a very private person. He had been, in the end, unable to hide the goodness inside from those closest to him. They were all lucky the day they finally learned how to get past the poker face and other barriers Ezra had worked years perfecting. They were so lucky to call him friend. And only Nathan knew how easy it would have been to lose him to this beating. Despite Buck's feelings of guilt, they all had a lot to thank Buck for this day.

Vin slammed his hand down on the table – hard – making all of the glasses and Nathan's plate jump. He stood and walked determinedly out the door.

"Should we go after him?" J.D. asked.

"No. He's gonna go check out the bodies, try to get rid of some of those feelings that he's loaded down with right now," Nathan surmised.

"Some Indian thing?" Buck questioned.

"Yeah," Nathan said as he continued to stare out the door. "Some Indian thing."

"He'll be headin' over to take over for Mary after," Josiah said.

"So, how is Ezra?" Buck asked.

"He's hurtin', but he'll live." The healer could tell that he'd need to provide more detail; looked like his meal would be cold before he'd taken two bites. "His vision's a little blurry from being knocked out, and he's dizzy too. Got a killer headache. His wrist is sprained, two fingers have breaks. I set 'em best I could, but he may need to go to someone who specializes in those kinds of small bone fractures. Two cracked ribs and a few bruised ones. Real bad bruising on his lower back. Need to watch that he don't have blood in his urine, or trouble goin'. If he does then he'll need to stay in bed for a while. He's been hit in the kidney before, so he knows what needs to be done."

"He ain't gonna like that," Buck said.

"He really got beat on. What happened?"

"Hell, Nathan, I don't know. I'll tell ya the same thing I told Chris. We took out one guy, he was shooting for us as soon as we showed up. I went to the barn, Ez took the house. I found Frank, he was already dead, had a couple of bullet wounds, and he didn't go easy. I headed out of the barn and bullets seemed to be coming from every direction. I shot another one of 'em, but I didn't know how many there were. Only saw three horses with saddles. I went out the back of the barn and behind that stand of trees. The pond was way up next to the house from the rains earlier in the day. I made it to the house … found Jesse dead out there…he fought just as hard as his dad … but then I heard noise, like a fight. I got to the corner of the house and looked to the side and saw Daniels kickin' Ez. They were both covered in mud. Shit, I think Ez was already unconscious but Daniels kept layin' into him with his boot. And that idiot Flannery rammed his boot into Ezra's hand. I called for 'em to stop but Daniels just pulled his gun, so I shot him. Flannery took advantage and rammed his shoulder into my stomach. I fell down, and he jumped on me and clocked me with the butt of his gun, but he didn't get such a good hit in. We fought. Then another one showed up, Charlie Carter. Stupid fool. He raised his gun to fire at me and Flannery dropped to the ground. Carter and I both fired, but his shot was way off."

"You got lucky," J.D. said.

"More than once. I heard Ezra's pea shooter and turned back to find that I would be dead if not for Ezra comin' to at just the right time to get the last one. What is it Ezra says? Impeccable timing? He sure had it." Buck wiped his face and stood up, more from nervous energy than from the real kind. "Can't believe all that's happened in twenty-four hours."

"You should get some sleep," Nathan advised.

"Can I see Ezra first? I'll sleep better … "

"Buck … "

"I promise, Nathan. If he wakes I won't let him talk. I won't talk. I know he needs the rest." J.D. had also looked hopeful, but Nathan let him down, less than easy.

"Only Buck," he said. "And sit down. Inez?" the healer called. The pretty Mexican came over to the table quickly. "Could you get all of us some warm food? We're all gonna sit here and eat. Vin'll be with Ezra soon, and he's sleepin' anyhow."

"I'm not … " Buck started.

"Sit down, Buck. Ya got nothin' left after a long day and worryin' over Ezra." Buck still stood. "I ain't gonna let ya see Ez if you don't calm down, now. Sit."

Buck sat, but not before grumbling 'Ain't no damn dog'. And he ate what was put in front of him. And then he waited, impatiently, for Nathan to catch up to him on the eating front. Small talk took place between long, heavy silences and sounds of men eating. Chris and Clint Dawson joined them. A quiet 'Ah, hell' was whispered by the handsome ladies man. Only those who knew Buck well could sense the tension building as Nathan went through Ezra's injuries once more for Chris' benefit.

"I am sorry it was my men that did this. I can't believe … " Dawson started, but choked up some before continuing, "Mabel and my wife, they became fast friends. It was like they were sisters separated at birth. She helped my son and me through the worst days after Ellen's passing." The rancher had kept to himself since that day nearly a year ago when his wife died. Father and son were rarely seen in town, sometimes going on two month stretches of not being seen if their supplies lasted long enough, though the ranch was always on the regular patrol route of the seven lawmen. Dawson's 'men' were temporary hires but many, like a couple of the five killed by Buck and Ezra, were regulars who returned from the previous season.

"You'll need to replace them for your cattle drive," Chris said.

"Yeah. Any of you interested?" he asked. 'Nos' and 'Hell nos' were heard from the five peacekeepers. Dawson smiled, barely. "I'll be headin' out, then. Again, sorry for the trouble."

"You can't control what other people do," Chris said.

"That may be true, but I gotta remember Ellen more when I decide to hire someone on. She was the real judge of character. If she was still with me … " He didn't need to finish his thought. He left the saloon and could be heard outside as he tried to recruit replacements.

"Nathan, ya done?" Buck asked.

The healer looked Buck in the eye, looked down at his plate, which was _not_ empty, and then looked back at Buck. He shook his head and then lowered it as he concentrated on finishing his supper.

* * *

"Ezra's been sleeping, but not too sound-like. Been tossin' and turnin' and he hurts whenever he moves. Seems like he's awake, but he's so tuckered out he don't seem to realize I'm here, and then falls back to hardly sleepin' again." Vin's report was not what Nathan wanted to hear.

"Damn. I was hopin' what I gave him would keep him quiet," the healer fretted. Buck walked toward the bed. "Don't wake him, Buck. And I need you out in two minutes."

"Okay." Buck just stood there, watching Ezra move about, wincing as he touched off pains all over his body. "Maybe if I talked to him … "

"No," both Nathan and Vin said. "Buck," Nathan added, "he won't remember you were here. His pain is gonna block out any memory of you tonight. You should go get some rest and then come see him in the morning."

"I guess you're right."

"Go on, then." Buck walked dejectedly to the door. He turned around, looked forlornly at Ezra tossing uncomfortably in the bed, then turned and left.

"There's somethin' not right," Vin said.

"You mean Buck's guilt?" the former slave asked.

"Don't know why he's goin' on about it. Unless … " The former bounty hunter paused, looking thoughtful, and then shook his head.

"What're you thinkin'?" Nathan asked.

"You know how Ezra is. He can read a situation real good. Maybe they disagreed about goin' in."

Nathan pondered the suggestion but shook his head. "Ezra would have insisted on helping that family."

"I know. But maybe he saw somethin', Nate, that told him it was too late, but Buck didn't listen." Vin turned worried blue eyes to his friend in the bed and then back to his other friend. "It's happened before."

Indeed it had, the times Ezra Standish had been ignored, his instincts discounted because he lacked some of the skills that his law enforcement brethren had. Or, as they learned soon enough, _seemingly _lacked, for the southerner turned out to be far more attuned to nature – and the nature of man – than any of them originally realized. They had all learned that Ezra's keen observational skills rivaled Vin's tracking ones, and his intuition was simply unmatched among the seven of them.

"It has, Vin, but not in a long time. Maybe Buck needed to make sure it wasn't too late to help, that it would be easier on his conscience to beg forgiveness from Ezra than to live wondering if he'd done enough for the Morrisons."

Vin shook his head. "Well, if Buck put it like that to Ezra, then you know Ez would agree."

Nathan nodded. He stood and walked over to the nightstand and grabbed one of the cloths piled there, wet it in the bowl of water and wiped down Ezra's sweaty brow. "Don't reckon it makes much sense to speculate. We can ask Buck more in the mornin'." The healer looked down to find Ezra blinking. The injured man sighed and then spoke softly.

"No."

Nathan frowned. "Ezra?"

Ezra stuck his tongue out, licking his lips. "Water?" he asked, no more than a choking grunt. Vin stepped in with a ready cup and helped the gambler up to get a swallow or two. "Thank you," Ezra said, his voice barely there, his words understood in spite of the quiet tone.

"I want you to drink some more tea," Nathan instructed.

"Yes," was all Ezra said in reply.

"Your hurts painin' ya bad?"

Ezra groaned and replied, "Don't bothah Buck 'bout wha' happ'n'd." He tried to get more comfortable but hissed with pain as he reached toward his bruised back.

"The tea ain't enough," Nathan said, a hint of anger in his voice. "You need to take some laudanum."

"No."

"Damn it, Ezra."

"Wastin' your breath, Mistah Jacks'n," Ezra said, his voice nary a whisper.

"Ezra, you need to sleep in order to heal."

"Ah know. Ah will." The gambler breathed as though he were heading to sleep, but then said, "Valer'n roo'."

"No."

"Nathan?" Vin asked, wondering what Ezra just said and why Nathan seemed to understand him.

"Ezra wants me to give him Valerian root. Last time I did that, he didn't wake up for another fifteen hours."

"Want to sleep," Ezra said, the pain in his voice obvious.

"I know, Ezra, but we don't know enough about the side-effects of that damn flower."

"Nathan, he ain't sleepin'. And he's in pain. Seems to me fifteen hours of sleep is just what he needs."

"Thank you, Vin," Ezra said as his breathing hitched at a spike of pain.

"Shit. Ezra, I'll put something together, but this is the last time I'm gonna use this before I find out more about it."

"Fine."

"How'd you find out about it?" Vin asked.

"Ezra. He don't like laudanum so he did some investigatin' to find an alternative."

"That sounds about right," Vin said as he sat next to the gambler. Nathan was pounding something a little harder than necessary, it seemed, with his mortar and pestle. Ezra groaned as he tried to move from his back to his side. He fell back in frustration, and harder than he'd intended. The gambler grabbed out for something to hold on to in order to bear the pain, and found the calloused, strong hand of Vin Tanner ready to help. Ezra squeezed hard, but not so hard that the tracker couldn't take it.

"Breathe, Ezra," Vin said, noting how his friend seemed a little too caught up in the pain and appeared to be forgetting some other basic needs.

Ezra breathed as instructed, and said, "It was mah intent to do so … 'ventually." Ezra started breathing more rapidly, something that Vin was more than aware signaled more pain for their expert poker player. "Vin," he said as the former buffalo hunter looked for the bucket that Nathan usually kept around.

"Here," the healer said, handing a large bowl to Vin just as Ezra leaned over and vomited.

Between sounds of intense pain and retching, Vin and Nathan watched as Ezra emptied his stomach. The man had eaten nothing since he'd been up in the clinic, but this was also his third bout of illness, all water and tea this time. Josiah and Nathan had been present when Ezra first woke to help the man through his awakening and the nausea that often accompanied a blow to the head. Ezra held onto his back with his left hand, supporting his body, with the aid of Nathan, with his right hand on the edge of the bed. A final choking gag and Ezra finished. He stayed in position, though, his hand not leaving his back.

"You need to go, Ezra?" Nathan asked.

"Ah … suppose Ah … should attempt it," the con man answered as he struggled to catch his breath.

And with help from his friends, he stood before the chamber pot and provided what amounted to very little.

"That ain't good," Nathan noted.

"No."

"Ain't no blood, but ain't much, either. It hurts most back there?"

"Nathan, it hurts all over."

"I know. But goin' just now, how painful was it? I know you were holdin' it in."

"It was bad, just like the last time." Ezra looked to Nathan and knew what was coming. "Ah know. Help me back to bed."

Nathan and Vin shared a look. The gambler was hurting, there was no doubt, as it was well-known that he had not been worried for his condition he would have demanded that he be allowed to recuperate in his own room, in his comfortable featherbed. They got the gambler sitting once more on Nathan's fairly comfortable bed and then Vin asked the question that both men had on the tip of their tongues.

"Why don't you want us to talk with Buck about what happened?"

Ezra sighed. "For no othah reason than the obvious." The con man frowned as he sniffed himself. "Could Ah get a bath?" he asked. His hair, his body, his breath wreaked of sweat and sickness.

"J.D. fetched your toothbrush and another nightshirt," Vin said.

"But ya can't have a bath. I'll have some hot water brought up. We'll get ya cleaned up," he told his healing friend.

"Wonderful," Ezra replied tiredly.

"So, 'bout Buck?"

"Vin, he is feelin' guilty 'bout," Ezra started, but he was slowed by a sudden yawn. "Mah apologies. Buck feels it is his fault Ah was hurt. And he's guilty 'bout not buryin' the Morr'sons. And he's guilty 'bout … " Ezra yawned again, which gave Vin the chance to interrupt and ask his own question.

"You mean Buck _felt_ guilty?" he asked.

"That _is_ what Ah said," Ezra countered, his eyebrows furrowed, his eyes blinking tiredly.

"Nah. What Vin's sayin' is you said Buck _was_ guilty, not _feelin'_ guilty about not buryin' the Morrisons," Nathan challenged softly.

Ezra's face clearly showed how appalled he was at such a thought. "If Ah did, Ah did not intend to. Ah would nevah say that Buck was guilty of such things."

Vin knew this to be true. The southern gentleman was, after all, a gentleman, to his friends, to other people he admired, and most – though certainly not all – women. But the other thing he knew about Ezra was that he was very particular with how he spoke. He always knew exactly what word to use, or what word to leave out.

"Ezra, maybe you wouldn't say it, but is Buck guilty?" Vin asked. Ezra's eyes grew wide at the question.

"Of course not," he answered quickly. Too quickly. His eyes were blinking fiercely now; it was one of the few 'tells' the con man had. When his resistance was down, when he was dog-tired and hurt, he had a hard time stopping his weary, burning eyes from tearing, and then he'd blink nervously to try to stave off those tears. But despite pain and exhaustion, there was always an underlying non-physical cause for the extreme emotional reaction.

Nathan checked the steeping Valerian root as he said, "It's okay if you think he was guilty of something if he was, Ezra." Nathan watched as the gambler started to tremble, the pain of his injuries and the effort he was putting in to defend and not offend Buck taking their toll.

"Nathan, Vin, I beg you to leave him be." The con man spoke as he remained sitting on the bed, eyes closed, swaying slightly, his uninjured hand pressed hard into the mattress to keep from toppling over.

"Nate," Vin said, a note of urgency in his voice. The Texan went to sit next to his pain-wracked friend. Once he was seated, shoulder-to-shoulder, he encouraged Ezra to lean his weight over to him, which the man did with a tired groan.

"Comin'," Nathan said as he stirred the contents of the mug. "Drink this down," he instructed as he took the chair that Vin just vacated. "I'm startin' with a milder batch, Ez. If you don't get to sleep, I'll make it stronger."

Ezra took the mug and drank its contents quickly; it never paid to linger while ingesting one of Nathan's brews. Like all of Nathan's 'cures', the Valerian root tasted like nothing that was ever intended for consumption. Ezra made a face, shook his head, muttered a barely stifled, 'blech' and handed the cup back.

"Thank you, Nathan. May Ah sleep now?"

"Yeah."

"Don't worry none, pard. One of us will be here. Just sleep," Vin said, as encouraging as he could be.

"Thank you, Mistah Tanner." Vin rubbed Ezra's upper back, gently, not knowing exactly where the deep bruising stopped and started. He stood and then both he and Nathan worked together to get the gambler cleaned up, using the warm water left in the tea kettle rather than waiting to arrange for hot, fresh water. Ezra wouldn't be awake much longer, but he wouldn't have appreciated going to bed as filthy as he was. Though he was practically asleep sitting up after the assistance with his other ablutions, he insisted on brushing his teeth before retiring.

"Yer likely to fall asleep in the middle."

"Bettah to start and get some done. If Ah do sleep, Ah will at least be afforded bettah odds of not killin' mahself with breath more resemblin' Top Hat Bob Spikes' than mah own."

"Finish up then," Vin added. And he did, moving as fast as his sore body would allow. Vin handed him each object as he stepped through the task. He'd barely finished rinsing before echoing a slight snore through the room.

"Damn," Vin said.

"Yeah, but he'll be okay. Let's get him layin' down," Nathan said. As they worked, he added, "The worst is his kidney, and that healed good last time. And he knows what it takes to let it heal."

"But last time, didn't he sneak out?" the tracker asked as he placed the coverings over the sleeping man. Nathan had placed a thick pillow behind him so that Ezra slept on his side, easing the pressure on his lower back.

"He won't," Nathan assured. Vin nodded, hoping that Nathan was right, knowing that the man laying in the bed now had learned a lot about what it meant to have people around who cared about him. He hadn't known this earlier in their acquaintance and tended to slip out and into old habits, skulking off to lick his wounds alone.

"I'm gonna go check in with Chris."

"See you later," Nathan said as he re-positioned the chair at his desk and went back to reading his medical tome, happy to chance an occasional glance as he quietly watched over his friend.

* * *

"They were all drunk," Tom said. "Considering the condition of the liver of the one fella I cut open, and all else that I found, it's not surprising they went too far." Though the science might not have been definitive yet, years of looking at the insides of people told the undertaker that this was so.

"Ah don't know, Mistah Arthur. Ah would like to think that no mattah how much liquor Ah consumed, Ah would not kill an entire family, three of whom had absolutely nothin' to do with the alleged offending incident."

"Oh … Oh, I'm not excusing them. It's horrible what they did. I'm just saying that they seemed to be liquored up, enough that it's surprising they could stay on their horses."

"It's a shame they didn't fall off and sleep it off," J.D. commented. All of the Seven, Tom Arthur and Judge Orin Travis sat around two tables pulled together at the saloon. They, as well as Mary Travis, Gloria Potter, Nettie Wells and a few other townsfolk had just returned from burying the Morrison family at their homestead. They had learned that Frank had prepared a will and were awaiting confirmation that his sister would be coming out with her husband to take over the farm. As it turned out, the two siblings had been discussing the dream of working the farm together with their two families. The sister was determined to settle her family's affairs back East and take over the farm, keeping both the farm and the memory of her brother and his family alive.

As they discussed Frank and Mabel and the children and the future of the homestead, Nathan had concentrated all of his observational skills on his patient. And he didn't like what he saw.

"Ezra," he began.

"If you would excuse me, gentlemen," the gambler said at the same time. The two men smiled at one another and were joined by the smiles of their partners in peacekeeping. Ezra took his handkerchief and blotted the sweat from his forehead. He stood to leave but grasped onto the arm of the chair tightly as the room tilted.

"Hey, Ez, let me walk you to your room," Buck said as he watched Ezra close his eyes in the hopes that when he opened them the room would have stopped moving. The con man opened his eyes and shared a glance with the tall ladies man. He knew that what he saw in the mustachioed face was more than concern and fellowship. Buck wanted … needed to talk.

"It would be mah pleasure, Mistah Wilmington," the southerner said as he allowed the lean gunman to take a hold of him across the shoulder and lead him to the stairs. Ezra rolled his eyes dramatically as he passed his friends, eliciting smirks and laughs; Buck earned an appreciative grin from Chris. The healing man tripped as the eye rolling caused him to be more unsteady on his feet, an outcome well worth the humor that it brought to his worried friends. As the two reached the top of the stairs and were out of earshot, Judge Travis asked the question on everyone's mind.

"How is our Mr. Standish?"

Nathan shrugged his shoulder. "You know how he is. He wasn't goin' to be kept from the service. If we'd left him behind, he would've ridden out on that horse of his."

"It was nice of you to let Ezra ride with you, Tom," J.D. said.

"Ah, it was nothing, J.D. It was the right thing to do. And Ezra made the ride seem not as bad as what it was, telling stories of Juliet and Jesse. They were good kids, turning into fine young adults." He shook his head and then turned to Nathan. "He seems a little feverish."

"And dizzy," Josiah added as he finished his beer.

"Yeah. The dizziness and the headaches will last a few more days. And he got the same way with the fever as he did last time he hurt his kidney. He'll be fine, in time. Today didn't do him any favors."

"'cept to give him the chance to give that family a proper goodbye," Vin said.

"Ezra would be the first to say it was worth the sacrifice," Chris noted.

"Amen," Josiah said. Everyone around the tables nodded their heads in agreement.

"You'll be down one lawman for a while," Orin pointed out.

"Not the first time, won't be the last," Chris replied matter-of-factly.

"Guess not." Orin looked to the other men and then back to Chris. "Keep me posted." The older man stood up.

"Will do," J.D. said, as Chris seemed disinclined to offer the acknowledgement.

"I'll be over at Mary's." Everyone said their goodbyes to the judge and then sat back quietly, drinking and contemplating the day. After nearly a half hour of relative quiet, Buck bounded down the stairs.

"Everything okay?" J.D. asked.

"Yep."

"You two talked it out?" Chris asked.

"Yep.

"Good."

"That was a right nice service, Josiah," Buck said. All of Buck Wilmington's friends sighed in relief, figuratively speaking. The ladies man and generally happy, outgoing man had turned nearly mute these last days. It was unnatural. It seemed as though Ezra had come through again, handling their disturbingly quiet team member with a gentle hand. And it seemed that Buck Wilmington – the _real_ Buck Wilmington – was back with them.

"Thank you, brother. I hate to have to do it, but I do my best."

"You always do right by folk, Josiah," Nathan complimented, patting the big man on his shoulder. To Buck, the healer asked, "He all right up there?"

"He's tired. It was a long day. He was sleepin' when I left."

"Sore and exhausted," Nathan said, shaking his head in frustration. "That ain't the best kind of sleep. I'll get a cup of tea up to him with his supper."

"Nate, there was nothin' you coulda done different. He was going to go, no matter what you said."

"I know, Buck." He looked across to each of his friends. "You think we can keep him out of, well, anything, at least for the next few days?"

"We will," Vin said.

"You got help keepin' him in his room?" Chris asked.

Tom Arthur sat back and watched these men. He never expected when he found himself in this small town that it would be like this. The West had been something that, if he was truly honest with himself, always scared him, just a little. Lawlessness seemed to be all that he ever heard about. He'd considered stopping in St. Louis, or moving on to Denver or San Francisco, but he had left the East because city life was not what he wanted. But as he heard about the bad that could happen, that happened regularly in the frontier towns, he'd also heard tell of a town with seven protectors, so that's where he headed with his two young children. But once he arrived, he also started to hear a different story, a story of flawed men, men to fear, men to protect your daughters from, men who could not be trusted, a drunk, a kid, a slave pretending to be a doctor. A murderer. So Tom Arthur watched. And within a few weeks of arriving in town, the previous undertaker had been killed by Achilles Thompson. He knew he had to offer his services, his experience with animals and investigating the reasons why they died having exposed him to work with physicians to do the same any number of times with people who had died back in his hometown of Philadelphia, and then later down in Baltimore. He knew he had more experience than anyone else in town did. And now, nearly two years later, he was still here. _They_ were all still here, too. He had learned the truth about these men. He couldn't believe his luck, and he was so grateful for their protection, and for their friendship. These were special men, these seven. So different from one another, but all caring so much. They were a big reason why this town would amount to something.

As Tom had heard Ezra say more than once, poker was not gambling. What Tom had learned was that life, truly living one's life, was the greatest gamble. Tom Arthur had chosen – had gambled – well. He had every confidence, as he watched and listened to the six as they kept the seventh firmly in their midst with their concern and their occasional glances toward the staircase, that the men of The Magnificent Seven felt the same way.

The End.


End file.
